Spaghetti Western Soul
by telekineticBURN
Summary: Andrew attempts to explain some things to Spike. It does not go over well. ( DawnAndrew, "Angel" post-ep 5.11 "Damage")


**Spaghetti Western Soul**  
by Renny Wallace (( RainbowGroupie / ))  
  
Rating : PG13 (language, mild violence)  
  
Pairing : Dawn/Andrew, slight Buffy/Spike  
  
Summary : Andrew attempts to explain some things to Spike. It does not go over well. (_Angel_ post-ep 5.11 "Damage")  
  
Disclaimer : Please, sue me. While we're on the subject, I also downloaded some music. (If I don't update often, assume I'm in jail.)

* * *

**Talk, Idiot, Talk  
-**

He was invisible. He was one with the shadows. He was the predator. Stealth was of the essence.  
  
"Either get in here or get out, you little ponce," shouted a tired voice from within.  
  
Andrew hesitated, and then made a hasty retreat back the way he had come.  
  
"Don't think I can't track you, Nancyboy!" Spike warned, strapped to the hospital bed. For his own protection, Angel had insisted.  
  
Andrew ground to a halt.  
  
"Face the danger, I am infallible. I am a hero. I am at peace," he recited in a low monotone, turning again and striding purposefully into the bleak hospital room.  
  
The vampire lay dormant on the steel-frame bed, half-asleep with both wrists bound heavily in thick white bandages, his hands tinged a sickening grey.  
  
"Oh, hello, Spike. Fancy meeting you here," Andrew said in a falsetto.  
  
Spike didn't bother opening his eyes. "I hear you hoodwinked the Hardy boys right and proper. Grown a spine and everything. Good on you," he noted wearily.  
  
"Not a spine, per se. More of an exoskeleton, actually. Dawn's words, not mine. Buffy sent me. Her orders. Also not mine," Andrew explained rapidly.  
  
Spike didn't answer. Usually he kept a steady rythm of breathing to maintain human comfort, but now he was perfectly still. He didn't look tough, or scary. Just tired. Just... dead.  
  
"Quit staring at me, Truffles. I don't swing that way," he snapped.  
  
"Oh, I wasn't - I mean, you just looked so - hey, just curious, why does everybody think I have homosexual tendencies?" Andrew said hectically.  
  
"Could it be the new perm?" Spike grunted.  
  
"I'm not, you know. Gay. I'm more Peter Parker than Baron Harkonen, really. I mean - well, Dawn says I'm more Tinkerbell, actually, but I think she might have just been teasing me again."  
  
"Caught onto Nibblet's game, then, have you?"  
  
Andrew was standing against the wall in his too-big overcoat. Spike watched him through weary eyes; His face, nervous and boyish even after all these battles, was bruising magnificently. His hair was tangled, damp with a drying trickle of blood, matted to his forehead. Spike was reminded of himself, William, human William, young and whimsical and fated with more scars than he could bear.  
  
"Get on with it, then," he said. "Say your piece and go home."  
  
"I thought you might -" Andrew began haltingly, "That is to say, I noted the possibility that you might wish to commiserate, fellow warrior, about a battle well fought."  
  
Spike glared at him until he sighed heavily. "I thought you should know… I'm going to tell Buffy. That you're alive. Well, not alive. Dead but vertical, at least. She deserves that much."  
  
"Think that'll help any?" Spike snorted. "She _deserves_ to move on, Andy. Enough with the dead boyfriend guilt. Let her be at peace for once."  
  
"She is," Andrew said suddenly. "I'm not saying she's Crichton discovering he and Aeryn are destined for each other, but she's happy. She has an office. And a secretary. A new boytoy." He paused, gathering his words. To stall, he pulled up a chair and sunk beside the hospital bed. "Buffy's gonna be OK, Spike."  
  
The vampire didn't reply, inspecting the ceiling, processing. Finally, he grinned.  
  
"Useful little fairy, aren't you," Spike commented. "What about the others, then? What's going on with the Scoobies?"  
  
Eagerly Andrew drew his legs against his chest, leaning back with practiced ease. "Well, I told you Willow and Kennedy are in San Paulo, workin' their witchy ways. They're looking into making a detour to San Francisco, though. Big step. Xander's been touring Africa, scaring the locals. I've been asking him if he's seen a Jackalope yet, but he never answers my e-mails… Umm… the Misses Summers are holding fort in Rome, lots of Slayer activity there. Something in the pasta, I guess. I mostly work with Rupert now. We're based in England, you know, the Mother Land… which makes one wonder what the Father Land is… I mean, does that make America an illegitimate son? Or is it more of a red-haired stepchild thing? Yeah, Manchester. Interesting place. Can't go for a walk without hitting into a former _17_ coverboy. But we go to Rome a lot, you know, to meet with Buffy. And me and Dawn have been dating for 6 months. But morphine, hey, that's gotta be nice!"  
  
"It helps. See, there's this lever, here, so you can turn up your own dosage. 'Course I can't actually use it, whole limited use of fingers, but it's good to know – hold on, what's this about Dawnie?" Spike demanded, his brain finally catching up with his hearing.  
  
Andrew smiled weakly, having ardently hoped that the amusing tidbit would be glossed over by his rapid monologue. "Uh, we've been… ah… she's my girlfriend," he said meekly.  
  
…  
  
Spike watched him, not blinking.  
  
"Why?" he asked finally.  
  
"Because… I love her. We're like Frank Castle and Joan, or, or, Sonny and Cher. I like to think I'd be Cher, 'cause I'm more of a straight man type. Though I guess in that case it'd be the straight _wo_man –"  
  
"Why you?" Spike clarified. "How'd a guy like _you_ get a girl like _her_?"  
  
Smiling enigmatically, Andrew moved forward conspiratorially. "_That_, my good vampyr, is a long, heroic story…"

* * *

A/N : Oookay. I just wrote this - I think it took me about 40 minutes - though I haven't slept, eaten, or slept in about 20 hours. I have not seen sunlight in 2 days. I recently started college and am seriously considering going back to preschool. Clean slate, no worries, paradise.  
Anyway. I honestly doubt you much care about my education or lackthereof. I just wanted to tell y'all that I might or might not update this. Certainly not again for atleast a week, assuming it ever happens. I have a vague storyline sketched out but there's far to much thinking involved to actually work on it now. Hope you enjoyed it. Andrew is perhaps the perfect fanfic character for me to write : I can actually use all my useless sci-fi knowledge. If you didn't get all the geek references, rejoce in your hipness, or just email me and I'll explain. The address is listed above. I must now go collapse in a corner somewhere. Goodbye.  
Cheers,  
Renny 


End file.
